Sign Of Death

Hmm...I have no idea what inspired me to wirte this. I just sit down and imagine things and I let my hand do it's own work. Which results in things like this.

I breathe it in. It is cool, crisp, and raw. So cool it stings my sensitive teeth. So crisp it crunches. So raw I can taste dead. I smell, bad idea. Strong scents tickle the inside of my nose. I open my eyes. Mistake. It burns. I feel them redden and swell.

The November air is a sign of death. We walk past it anyway. Some live. Some die.

I do not open my eyes anymore. I do not smell. I lost my taste. I cannot tell if I am still in cool, crisp, raw air. Or if I have made it to warm, soft, fresh air.

I grow tired of all the waiting. Wearily I breathe in. I wake up from this day dream of past and hidden records of memories. Ones of which are meant to stay closed and locked.

As I wait I feel a teardrop falling, burning my cloud white cheek. What was normal is now a red scar. Marking the pain of the past. And the future mistakes.

Another. I feel another fall. Only it is red, blood red. It had come. Come from my frowning, black, sad heart. It hurts so bad. As I try to sow it back together, I bleed more.